Scott's and Wallace's Eyes Get Corrected
by EiriTheBear
Summary: NOT A ONESHOT. Scott gets hit with Roxie's laser thing, which messes up his eyes. He and his gay roommate Wallace get him a pair of glasses. Scott/Wallace SLASH fluff


Scott's and Wallace's Eyes Get Corrected

Note: Oneshot. Scott/Wallace. Thoughts? Review. Ehe ehe. I love Scott Pilgrim.

SPWW

"All right, Mr Pilgrim, this setting should be the right one for your eyes," the Optometrist said in a self-assured way, and Wallace felt Scott shudder through their hands, for the eleventh time since Scott sat on the cushiony chair and had his eyes examined. Wallace rolled his eyes at him, though Scott couldn't see him with the phoropter on half of his face.

"For Christ's sake, Scott," said Wallace. "You'd think you'll get used to this after the first three times, like, you know, what you did with Ramona's exes—you nailed 'em well, kicked them hard on their asses, didn't let them pummel you—well, except maybe Lucas Lee—damn was he hot—"

"This is different," Scott mumbled feebly, and he gripped Wallace's hand again as the optometrist changed the lenses. "The photocopter's _cold_."

Wallace's face softened as, once again, the lenses clicking into place made Scott jerk, and he sighed. "It's phoropter. Just grip the hand baby, I'm here."

The Optometrist seemed unfazed by Wallace's cooing, instead tinkering with the nodes and whanot, acting professional, but really he ached to ask—since he was a horribly sinful gossip—if these two men were together.

"Aww, are you two together?" He gave in, throwing tact and professionalism out the window. Wallace glanced quickly at Scott, as if expecting Scott to make eye contact with him like they always did when someone who didn't know them asked them that question. Wallace had only the phoropter to look at, but he saw Scott's mouth turn into a slight frown.

"This still doesn't seem right," Scott said, and Wallace raised an eyebrow. "Oh and, no Sir, Wallace here's my roommate."

Wallace turned from Scott to the Optometrist while in the middle of a nod, which turned out looking quite jerky and offhanded. "Yeahp, I'm his gay."

"That's odd …" the Optometrist said, "the lenses I mean, not the … yes."

"Really, Wallace," Scott said, sighing. "I don't own you."

"Yes, because I own you," Wallace smugly. And Scott mumbled something like a curse or a form of resignation. Either way, Wallace broke into a cool grin, and the Optometrist looked at them oddly, before deciding that Scott's new eye glasses would have two different curvatures.

SPWW

"I look weird."

"Let me see them, then," Wallace said coaxingly. He didn't know why it was necessary for the Optometrist's office to have a changing room for eye glasses—he reckoned it was for the likes of Scott Pilgrim who never cared about what they looked like—except for when something new was introduced to their lackluster life or 'fashion statement', as Wallace had so eloquently put it.

"I don't want to go out. I look weird. The lenses make my eyes different sizes."

"So? You could freak people out. Hadn't you always wanted to do that?"

"I already do that with my knobby knees and nuclear wasteland hair."

"Your knees are fine," Wallace said reassuringly, "and your hair's never been … cleaner. Why are you suddenly so wrapped up around your appearance, anyway? Is it because of the glasses? Do you want contacts instead? I know this great place where I used to … stalk … guys in …"

Wallace trailed off, staring at Scott with his mouth slightly open. Scott had stepped out of the changing room, with a pair of delicate wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

"I don't want to be Ramona's eighth ex. We've been fighting a lot, y'know," Scott sniffed, and his eyes glowed with three different tinges of emotion—worry, unaccustomedness with the glasses, and embarrassment with wearing them in the first place.

Yes, Wallace knew. It was a series of unbearably stupid weeks, where Ramona unerringly called out Scott's little faults and weaknesses and likened them to her exes', in some ludicrous way or another. Like how in the mornings, Scott's hair stuck out in unruly tufts, and Ramona would compare them to Todd's hair, or how Scott didn't like cheese all that much because he could taste how it fermented—though only God knows how that was possible—and Ramona would immediately scold him and say that he was becoming more like Todd everyday.

And that didn't end with the third ex, for Ramona found ways to incorporate each of the other six into their arguments about Scott's shortcomings, even Roxie who, at least anatomically, didn't have that much in common with Scott, yet which Ramona tried to fit in. Wallace was having none of it, of course, and teaching and guiding Scott through it all, and his little ploys to get Scott on Ramona's good side worked, for a time, but Ramona became more vehement by the day, and Wallace would get angry because of the most inane arguments that that duplicitous bitch drew up.

And Wallace was also quite miserable, because Scott hadn't been all that fun to tease or jibe with these days, because all Scott would do was pine and care more about his appearance than he ever did, and because Scott was looking less like Scott everyday.

And then one of the exes came, covered in what appeared to be ninja gear—Wallace had a sneaking suspicion it was Roxie—and hit Scott's eyes with a portable eye-correction laser, which damaged his corneas.

And there they were, getting Scott a pair of glasses. And damn, did he look good wearing them.

"Told you I looked weird," Scott said, bowing his head.

"You look fine, you idiot," Wallace said, after getting his shit back together in a snap, a feat he'd mastered when picking up obstinate, self-righteous dorks. "See, I'll even pay for them so you feel bette—"

"What? No!" Scott said, reaching for his wallet immediately. "You don't get to do that. I owe you a lot already. It's why you own me, remember?" he pointed out.

"Well, yes," Wallace said, agreeing with Scott, "but the only possible benefit from owning you is to whore you out. Consider this a little investment?"

Scott looked at him, confused. "Investment? But I look crappy in them."

"Shut it, Scott," Wallace said, as he fished money out from his wallet and walked towards the counter. He thought about how ignorant Scott was, like usual, but also how Scott looked even more appealing than before. Wallace smiled.

He grinned to himself as Scott sputtered at him all the way back to their apartment, and he surprised himself by thinking of at least a dozen ways to turn Scott into Ramona's eighth, or, in higher perspective, Ramona into Scott's third.

SPWW

"Stop fiddling with them, Wallace!" Scott whined. They had been in the apartment all day, with Scott playing Wallace's video games and not succumbing to the temptation of calling, texting or IMing Ramona—who was online, Wallace pointed out—but instead wasting his life away on Wallace's sofa. Wallace was currently on the chair's armrest, smiling mischievously as he poked Scott's new glasses over and over.

"What, they're cute!" _on you._

Scott tried to maneuver his avatar past the guards with crooked teeth and sawed-off hair, all the while twitching from Wallace's finger over and over.

"Wallace—put that finger somewhere else!" he cried, holding the controller away from Wallace while at the same time leaning his head as far away from Wallace's finger as possible. Wallace grinned widely as a particularly lascivious thought came to him.

"Well, if you weren't so stingy all the time we could use it when we sleep together," he said cheekily, and Scott blushed. Wallace smiled at the redness of Scott's cheeks and neck approvingly.

"Eww, that's—I'm not even gonna think about i—too late, now it's on my mind forever," Scott deadpanned, at the same time his character tripped on a snail and fell onto jagged bottom-of-the-cliff spikes.

"Oh man, you suck at this game," Wallace said, hopping off the armchair and going to the kitchen. The phone rang, and Scott, who was still staring blankly at his bloody avatar, reached for it.

Wallace peeked around the corner and saw Scott muttering on the phone, his eyes widening, and then his mouth moving rapidly—Wallace could easily guess he was speaking to Ramona, who he assumed can't keep up with Scott burning through his words—and, there it was, Ramona would have made him shut up, by the way Scott clamped his mouth tightly, only nodding at her words—but then realizing that was stupid, and responding yes or no breathily—and then he perked up, his eyes glowed, and he had a silly grin on his face._ Fuck, do those glasses make him cute._

Wallace quickly took a knife, went to the fridge, got some grapes, sliced them like hell, and put them on a saucer so it looked like he did something tedious, and then casually walked back into the room, flicking a grape slice into his mouth and looking bored.

"So, who was it?" he said.

"Wamonaaa," Scott said dreamily. Wallace could see the meadow and the birds and the singing sunflowers Scott was imagining as his background for this moment. Wallace wanted to go all global warming on that meadow.

"Well, ok, don't … drool on my carpet, that's—oh, too late, clean that up," Wallace said, in his cool, bored tone. It'd be less suspicious if he spoke in that drawl. Fuck you're so cool, Wallace. Fuck, you're so cool. That's what he heard Scott say everyday, and he kind of liked to keep it that way.

"What did she want?" asked Wallace, sitting on the armrest and staring down at Scott, who had to look up at him like a bunny looking up at a looming Bengal tiger. Scott grinned sheepishly.

"I think it's time, Wallace," he said, suddenly serious. "I think this is it."

"What is time, Scott? What is 'it'?" Wallace said, thwacking Scott's temple with a finger. "You're not making any sense."

"You know, that dreaded 'it' that you always talk about and I really don't like talking about but you talk about it anyway especially when you're drunk and one time I even walked in on you doing it and I saw his thing and that scarred me for life but that's okay, it's buried now and only years of therapy will dig that back up but this time it's different, it's not boy/boy like all those slash fanfics you insist I should read but boy/girl, and yeah, it's M rating so I'm pretty sure that it's going to be hardcore and I'm scared so help me, Wallaaace!"

Scott was on his knees, gripping the bottom hem of Wallace's shirt, and he said that in one incredibly long breath, which partly impressed Wallace, but mostly just made him sick to the bone at how frigging into Ramona the Scott was.

"Sex, Scott? Are you talking about sex?"

"Stop saying that! You make it sound so … sooo … disgusting."

"Or sexy, Scott. You could admit that I make it sexy," Wallace said, making kissy faces, and Scott blushed again, and Wallace smirked inside. Scott was so virginal it wasn't even funny. Wallace wanted to solve that problem, but of course, he had other things in mind other than Scott losing it to someone else. "Sexy sex is sexy. 9gag says so. You wanna have sex, Scott?"

"Oh. My Gohd, don't put my name and sex and 9gag in one sentence," Scott cried, mortified, crawling away from Wallace.

"Sex with me, Scott? Oh yes, Scott! Oh yeah!"

They ran around the apartment for a while, with Scott screaming in embarrassment and Wallace making kissy faces, saying sex and 9gag over and over.

Until—

"_Stop_ it, Wallace!" Scott cried, and his voice broke at 'stop'. Wallace stopped. Scott's tone told him that shit just got real. They were in the kitchen, and Scott's eyes were stubbornly fixed on his socks—which was, to say, Wallace's socks borrowed—and his knuckles were white from being clenched so hard. Wallace stared at Scott's set jaw, and his lips, drawn into a thin line.

"I'm serious," Scott mumbled, and Wallace knew he meant it. Wallace sighed, rubbing his face.

"All right. Sorry," he said, going to the fridge and getting milk. "What do you need help with?"

Scott said nothing for a while, and the only sounds in the kitchen were glasses clinking, milk being poured, and Scott's breath evening.

"I don't … I … I'm not …" Scott said, or tried to say, because he couldn't say anything.

Wallace drank a whole glass of milk in one go, and then said, "Say no more, Sir Pilgrim, the internet will solve our problem."

And they were in front of the computer in an instant, and Wallace was loading porn from wwwdot[]dotcom, and Scott was fidgeting and sweating like a dog trapped in a sealed pick-up. Wallace was so amused he almost forgot to load straight porn, which Scott sternly, yet feebly insisted.

Wallace sat like the devil himself, watching and smirking as the innocence left Scott's eyes like smoke from a cigarette. Yes, Scott was a virgin, and it seemed like this was his first porn time. They say that the latest an individual stays in his adolescence is twenty-two. Scott's twenty-three now, and has probably been deprived of that heavenly release for ten years.

Wallace couldn't help being a bit turned on. They were watching porn together, and Scott was transfixed with the gyrating bodies on the screen, his Adam's apple bobbing then and again as Scott took a gulp of saliva, and Wallace noticed how his glasses hid his eyes with the glare of the computer screen.

And then a knock came from the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Scott jumped like, ten feet, and crawled towards the computer quickly, and pulled every cord out from the extension cord, shutting the computer down.

"What the hell, Scott—"

"Hello? Is anybody home? It's me, Mo …"

"W-we weren't watching anything, Mobile!"

"Scott, I hardly think he'd be suspicious of anything—"

Scott was blushing hotly, and he was frantic, like all those years without being caught at doing any porn—because he was, after all, not doing any—finally got combo-broken.

Wallace opened the door for Mobile, and he walked in. "What took so long?"

"Scott," Wallace said, in that usual cool voice. "Out. We're having sex."

Scott said no more and fled.

"Hey, since when did Scott start wearing glasse—"his mouth was quickly muffled by Wallace's. Man, was he horny. And the whole time they rutted on Wallace and Scott's bed, Wallace only thought about a certain guy in glasses and a stupid-looking fur-lined coat, and guilt thick like bile in his throat.

SPWW

Wallace quickly dressed after an orgasm, and took his coat and Scott's, leaving Mobile in their apartment. He already knew where to look for Scott.

It was cold, but Wallace knew what he did to Mobile was colder. But Scott, he thought, needed someone, and he was going through a dozen irrational things that Scott could need him for, with none of them, surprisingly, involving hitting the sack.

He reached the top of the stairs to the park, and his lips quirked. Scott was sitting on the last step, huddled near the handlebars, shivering slightly.

"You complete idiot," Wallace said, and he threw Scott's coat at the guy's face just as Scott looked up at him. Scott wasted no time and put it on.

"So, you done? Can I come back yet?"

Scott sounded bitter, and once again that stupid guilt rose up inside Wallace. "Yeah, dude, about that … sorry," he said earnestly, "didn't know it was going to be cold."

"It's not even about the cold," Scott mumbled, yet Wallace heard him. Wallace sat down at the opposite end of the step and said nothing, looking towards the night.

"I know I'm not really in my place to say this—figuratively and literally since the apartment's ninety-five percent—"

"—ninety-seven percent—"

"—yours—but, I really, really don't like it when you kick me out. For that. You know, that thing you do with other guys."

"_Sex_, Scott. It's not that hard to say, I mean you already almost did it on your first date with Ramo—"

"It's not about that!" Scott yelled a bit too loudly, and he instantly recoiled within himself. "I don't like being kicked out."

Silence was thick between them, and Wallace didn't know whether to crack a joke, or ask, or just frigging hug the stupid, stupid guy who happened to look so vulnerable and confused just then.

Something clicked in Wallace's head, and he knew. "Scott, your parents—"

"They're in Europe. They've been there for almost two years now. Stacey's refusing to go with them there and wants to finish school here."

Wallace nodded, comprehension dawning. "But why—"

"Because they thought I was stupid … Or I dunno … hopeless? Yeah, that sums it up in a nutshell … hopeless Scott," Scott said, and his tone made Wallace glance back at him, who was now the one staring into the night. Scott was crying.

Wallace had no idea, absolutely no effing clue that something like this would be dredged up out of Scott's glaring virginity and Wallace's insatiable appetite for a good time. Granted, he didn't know Scott's parents actually left him to fend for himself in Toronto, if that's what Scott's story was leading towards. Wallace should have asked, he thought in hindsight, instead of being platonic when it came to their families. They were, after all, friends for a long time now, best friends even, and Wallace had been a terrible one to Scott.

"Scott, come here," he said gently, and Scott, to his surprise, practically jumped on his lap and cried his heart out.

Wallace hugged him, and warmed Scott up a bit. The guy was freezing. "You're not stupid, Scott. When I call you stupid, it's a term of endearment. Like, snickerdoodle. Or bitch."

Silence. Sob, sob, sniff.

"I'm not gay," Scott sobbed, "I'm just really distressed right now."

Wallace laughed at him, and rubbed his back as he cried. "I know you are. No judgment. We're all God's children."

Silence. Sob, sob, sniff.

"That's from Miss A, isn't it?"

"Easy A, dummy. After I made you watch it with me four times you still can't get that right."

Wallace sighed, and contented himself with inhaling Scott's scent from his hair.

SPWW

Note: Oneshot. Scott/Wallace. Thoughts? Review. Ehe ehe. I love Scott Pilgrim.


End file.
